


The Consequences of Lent

by Carrot_Rex



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Arthur being Arthur, Gen, Lent, cabin crew, shrove tuesday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:37:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3380099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrot_Rex/pseuds/Carrot_Rex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, Lent’s always been a tricky time of year at MJN, Martin. I fear Arthur has grasped the concept, but has some considerable difficulty in the application of it.”- Douglas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Consequences of Lent

“It’s Shrove Tuesday, pancake day has come! Na na na nan na dee dee dee dum! Morning Mum!” 

“Good morning, Arthur.”

“Mum, I’ve decided!”

“Oh, really? And what will it be this year?”

“Shoes!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve decided to give up wearing shoes for Lent. It’s a brilliant idea- I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before!”

“Oh dear lord… Arthur, you cannot just give up an item of clothing. That is not how it works”

“But you thought it was a good idea when Uncle Norman gave up those colourful shirts he liked. You even took them off him so he wouldn’t be tempted.”

“Well, yes, I did, but-”

“And then you burned them.”

“Yes, b-”

“Even the buttons. Which I didn’t think was possible, so you bet me that it was, and I had to buy you six packets of shortbread.”

“And very delicious shortbread it was too. The point, Arthur, is that Uncle Norman’s Hawaiian Shirts were an abomination unto the Lord and an affront to the sanity of all those who beheld them, whereas your shoes, Arthur, are an item without which I cannot allow you to leave this house, and absolutely refuse to allow you anywhere near GERTI.”

“What? No! Mu-um!”

“Don’t “Mum” me, Arthur. We do not permit the passengers to fly without shoes, you are not serving them drinks in your stockinged feet.”

“What about cargo flights?”

“No, Arthur.”

\---------------------------

Even the prospect of beginning his pre-flight checks half an hour ahead of time couldn't stop Martin from asking.

“Arthur, why are your feet staring at me?”

“Oh! Do you like them, Skip? They’ve got mouths as well, look!” Arthur performed an impromptu, wobbling dance to better bring the right toe of his footwear to Martin’s attention.

“So- so I see, Arthur.” Martin paused for a second, then finding that he was possibly more confused than he had been pre-dance, pressed on: 

“But why, Arthur? No, not ‘why do your boots have eyes and mouths?’ I mean, ‘why are you wearing them at this time?’”

“Arthur has given up shoes for Lent.” interjected Carolyn smoothly. “Obviously, this is a ridiculous and utterly impractical idea, but he refuses to let it go. As you see, we have reached a compromise.”

“With wellington boots.”

“Indeed.”

“With faces on them?”

“Arthur has a fondness for footwear that resembles animals. In this case, the frog, because he can then pretend that he is returning them to their natural habitat whenever he stands in a puddle.”

“Right.”

Anything further that Martin might have had to say was curtailed by the arrival aboard GERTI, only twenty minutes late, of Douglas.

“Morning Carolyn, Arthur, Sir. What’s going on?”

“Arthur’s given up shoes for Lent.” Martin informed him.

“Good Lord, really? Well, I suppose it can’t be worse than the Toblerone Fiasco of ’09.”

“What?”

“Oh, Lent’s always been a tricky time of year at MJN, Martin. I fear Arthur has grasped the concept, but has some considerable difficulty in the application of it.”

“And the Toblerone Fiasco?”

“Ah.”

“What? What?”

“Well, I think you can probably guess what Arthur chose to give up. And, Arthur being Arthur…”

“Hey!”

“No use protesting the truth, son-of-mine. Now go and find me some coffee. You know this story already.”

“So do you, though, Mum.”

“Yes, but I’m hoping repeated telling will soften the pain of memory. Now shoo!”

“Yes Mum.”

Arthur reluctantly allowed himself to be chivvied from the room. As the squeaking of rubber soles on the galley floor grew quieter, Douglas raised a querying eyebrow.

“If I may continue?”

“Yes, yes, go on, Douglas.” Carolyn waved a hand at him impatiently.

“Well, Arthur being Arthur, he was incredibly strong in his resolve for almost a whole month.”

“Then a passenger he liked offered him a piece of theirs, and he forgot that he wasn’t supposed to.” Carolyn sighed.

“Oh. Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Everyone falls off the bandwagon once in a while, don’t they?”

“Quite right, Martin. Fortunately not everyone comes to the conclusion that, having thus departed the aforementioned musical conveyance, they should then calculate how many Toblerones they would have eaten in the time before they failed, and, taking an all-or-nothing attitude to the whole thing, attempt to eat all of the missed Toblerones in one sitting.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

“Surely it can’t have been that bad. I mean, I’ve seen how much quiche that boy can stomach, and Arthur doesn’t eat that many Toblerones. For  
Arthur, I mean”

“Not any more, no. The natural digestive consequences of fifty-seven of the things can have that effect on a boy’s appetite. even for Toblerones.”

“Good grief. Really fifty-seven?”

“I’m afraid so. We counted the wrappers.”

“Gosh.”

“Some of them were the specialty jumbo ones, too.”

“God.”

“Exactly. Ah, Arthur, thank you. That was quick. I hope you remembered to boil the kettle first.”

Arthur had. Coffee and quiet reigned for a good couple of minutes, until Carolyn made an exasperated little noise and declared;

“Honestly, Martin, do you think you could take your eyes off Arthur’s feet for three seconds together?”

“Sorry, Carolyn. They’re a little distracting, that’s all.”

“You would have preferred the Snow Shoes?” 

“No, no, it’s a good compromise, I accept that, it’s just… I don’t like things that stare at you. You know, not-alive things.”

Both Carolyn and Douglas groaned. Martin winced.

“What? I-” he began, then saw Arthur’s expression, and understood.

“Gosh, sorry, Skip. Should I take them off for the flight deck? That’s allowed, isn’t it?”

Martin made a desperate attempt to backtrack.

“No, I really don’t think so, Arthur, that would be completely against regulations, and anyway it’s really not a big deal, you don’t need to-”

“What if I hide the eyes behind my leg while I’m in the flight deck? That might work.”

“I really don’t think you could cover both sets of eyes at once, Arthur.”

“I can try. Look!”

And a very impressive try it was too. They might almost have let him carry on with it, had he not tottered a little too close to the instruments.

“Arthur, stop!” Martin actually flung out an arm, despite being several feet too far away for this to have any physical effect.

“Ohh! I almost had it.”

“I’m… sure you did, Arthur. But it really won’t be necessary. And anyway, you’d probably spill the coffee.”

“Oh. Oh yes.”

An awkward silence descended upon the cockpit, broken by the terrifying sound of Arthur, suddenly cheerful again.

“Oh, wait, Skip! I know how I can fix everything!”

“really, Arthur?”

“Yes! I just need a bit of time in Duty Free, that’s all!”

“Are you sure, Arthur?” Douglas’ tone indicated that if Arthur was sure, this was probably a position to be reconsidered with all possible speed. “Remember what happened last time you thought you could solve a problem with Duty Free.”

“This is different, though, Douglas! I know I can buy what I need, so I won’t have to mix anything together at all. Just wait, it’ll be brilliant!”

\---------------------------

Martin paused at the exit to the staff canteen and groaned.

“Oh God.”

“What is it?”

“Douglas, don’t look now, but… actually, do look now, and tell me how angry Caroline will be.”

“Hmm?” Douglas stepped forward to survey the concourse, his interest piqued. It didn’t take him long to spot the source of his captain’s distress, hurrying towards them with all the eagerness of an avalanche that just wants to be friends.

“Oh. I see. Yes, that could be a tricky one.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’d go so far as to say she’ll make your life a living hell until you find something to mollify her. Something quite substantial, I'd imagine.”

Arthur appeared, blissfully ignorant of the doom which lay in wait for all three of them, bounding across to display his handiwork. He was beaming with pride.

“Hello, Chaps! All the small ones were novelty, which turned out to be Brilliant. I couldn’t choose! But that turned out to be a good thing too, because with the cheap sunglasses you can sort of see through them, but if you put two pairs on at once, you can’t see the eyes at all!”

“So I see.” Douglas glanced at Martin’s horrified face and decided to salt the wound while the teasing was good. “And how, Arthur, did you decide which two pairs of sunglasses were to sit behind the other ones?”

“Oh, that was easy. The flashing ones go at the back, because you can still see those, wherever they are.”

Arthur demonstrated, provoking a little squeak of despair from Martin.

“And these are attached to your wellingtons with…”

“Superglue.”

“Oh, good.”

“Yes. The man in the shop said there was no danger whatever of them coming off during a flight. I checked.”

“How conscientious of you, Arthur.” Douglas grinned evilly at Martin. “Shall we go and spread the joy?”

\---------------------------

They made it halfway up the gangway before an indrawn breath ahead of them alerted them to Carolyn’s presence.

“Martin, what have you done?”

The hapless pilot held up his hands in feeble protest.

“It- it’s not that bad. The afterimages fade faster the more times you accidentally look at them.”

Carolyn’s eyes narrowed.

\---------------------------

The next morning, Martin’s clipboard had acquired googly eyes. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest. The staring collage of the things above the loo was slightly more of a shock. But the single, tiny eye glued to the very corner of the windscreen was downright unnerving.

This was going to be a long six weeks.


End file.
